


Home For Christmas

by PuddinPop



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Concerned Sam, Fever, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Sick Dean, Sickfic, Sneezing, holiday fic, supernatural Christmas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-23
Updated: 2015-09-10
Packaged: 2018-04-10 21:47:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4409027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PuddinPop/pseuds/PuddinPop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John was never able to give Sam and Dean a proper Christmas. This year, Sam had plans to create a perfect Christmas for Dean without him knowing. Things don't go as expected when Dean becomes sick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I

The wind whipped around the Impala, the whistling sounds causing Dean to shiver slightly. His hand reached towards the heater on the dash, only to find it was already set to full. He glared at Sam from the corner of his eyes, as if was somehow Sam’s fault that the weather was now suddenly Arctic. He pulled his jacket further around him and sunk back in his seat, numb hands gripping the steering wheel and his eyes squinting against the snow pelting the windshield.  
  
Sam watched Dean’s actions with incredulous eyes; he had been watching him very closely for the last two days, adamant that there was something going on, something Dean was hiding. He knew Dean better than anyone else – he sometimes wondered if he knew Dean better than he knew himself. They had spent their entire childhood together, probably more than any other siblings. Not only did they always attend the same schools – when they actually attended school – but it was common practice for them to share the same room in whichever motel they were staying, and more often than either of them would have cared for, the same bed.  
  
The two decades that Sam had spent at Dean’s side had taught him to spot the warning signs whenever something seemed to be troubling the older Winchester, and it was glaringly obvious that Dean was coming down with something. The mood swings he suffered in the days which preceded, the heater constantly on full which made the inside of the Impala feel tropical, the slightly darkened shadows under his eyes – all of this indicated the comings of a pretty sucky head cold – Sam’s idea of hell. Both of them had suffered their fair share of sicknesses and injuries, but of all of them, Sam despised when Dean had a cold the most; with something truly debilitating, Dean knew his boundaries, knew he was no use to anyone trying to work in such an appalling condition. He would take every measure to ensure that his health returned as soon as possible. With a cold, however, Dean had a tendency to try to soldier through it alone, not burdening anyone else with his complaining. Not only this, but Dean would work himself into the ground, refusing to believe that something as insignificant as a cold should mean that you are incapable of working. The stigma attached to colds was, what Dean believed, to be something which barely affected you; a few sniffles here and there hardly rendered a person incapable of carrying out their daily duties. However, what Dean always failed to recognize was that not caring for himself when he was struck down with such an illness usually resulted in it developing into something much more sinister. Sam couldn’t blame Dean for this – it was engrained into them from being very young that if they could still walk, they could still hunt, and no supernatural being cared to hear about how terrible you felt. If anything, it would make it worse if they knew that you were in a weakened state.  
  
Sam was startled back to reality by a harsh coughing fit coming from the driver’s side. It was a dry, rattling cough, unlike the deep, congested cough that usually plagued Dean whenever he got even the slightest bit sick. Sam considered himself lucky; he was the one who got lumbered with the plethora of various allergies that affected him more often that he would have liked, but at least he wasn’t susceptible to bronchitis every time a singular bacterium came within a one hundred yard radius like Dean was. It was conflicting for Sam, because as much as Dean was a pain in the ass when he was sick – constantly denying the fact that he was, in fact, sick, shouting at Sam whenever he was asked if he was okay, working himself into the ground – if he wasn’t ordered to take care of himself, then that’s when things inevitably got ugly.  
  
“…You alright?” Sam plucked up the courage to ask when the coughing finally died down. Dean eyed Sam with a sardonic glare, his eyes dewy from the coughing. He uttered a sharp sniff before settling his eyes back to the road ahead.  
  
“Fine. Remind me again what we’re doing.” He crushed the back of his hand against his nose and let it sit there a moment, his breath wavering slightly. Sam waited in anticipation for what he was expecting to come, but when Dean pulled his hand away and wiped it against his jeans, Sam concluded it was best not to push Dean too far just yet and pretended that he didn’t even notice.  
  
“There’s been strange things happening in Sioux Falls. Bobby asked us to help him check it out.”  
  
“Strange, huh?” Dean half-chuckled to himself. “You mean like friggin’ _reindeer mutilations_? C’mon, Sam.”  
  
“No, seriously. Bobby thinks it could be omens.” Sam’s voice began to wander slightly on the last couple of words as his eyes flitted back to Dean. His brother was now grinding his knuckles to the underside of his nose, leaving it blemished a slightly darker shade to its usual complexion.  
  
“Omens? Y’mean like, demon omens?” Dean continued to rub the underside of his nose as he spoke, augmenting Sam’s suspicions further. He concluded that it still wasn’t the right time to approach Dean on the matter of his health – he’d had a hard enough time to convince Dean to even drive to Sioux Falls to investigate this case. If Dean found out the truth that there was no actual case, and that Sam and Bobby were conspiring against him, the proverbial would well and truly hit the fan.  
  
“Um, yeah, maybe,” Sam shrugged.  
  
“I thought they usually went for _cahhh…_ cat _\- hh-!_ cattle?” The hitching breaths were noticeable to even the simplest blithering idiot, and he was a fool if he thought they had gone undetected. Sam cocked an eyebrow, watching as Dean’s face contorted into a tortured grimace, his nose scrunching up as his head tipped back, his eyes squinting but determined to stay open and focused on the road. A couple of sharp breaths caused Dean’s shoulders to hunch up slightly, before his face and his posture relaxed, leaving him sniffling, the slightest trace of congestion audible. “Well?”  
  
“Um-“ Sam continued to stare at Dean; he really was pretending like nothing was even happening. Sam half sighed, half laughed as he began to fumble around on the backseat – he was sure he spotted some napkins earlier. “Well, yeah, they do. At least, as far as I know, they do. But who knows. ‘Tis the season, after all.” Sam flopped back down onto the passenger seat, napkins in hand. He thrust them in Dean’s direction, resulting in a dismissive hand swatting them away.  
  
The rest of the journey was strained with a tense silence, occasionally interrupted by Dean’s almost-sneezing, Sam’s huffs when Dean refused napkins or water and the increasing frequency of Dean’s coughing. By the time they reached Sioux Falls, they were both exhausted; driving consistently for so many hours usually wore Dean down on his best days, but with the growing sickness inside him, it meant he was truly debilitated.  
  
Relief overcame Sam when they knocked on Bobby’s door; at least he would have someone to share the burden with. Dean’s snide comments and snappy retorts would no longer be directed solely at Sam. As they kicked their boots against the door to rid themselves of the snow which covered them, Sam noticed Dean inhale sharply, before twisting his body away from him.  
  
_“Hh- **KTCHH** uh!”_  
  
“Bless,” Sam muttered almost silently, giving Dean the option to pretend he hadn’t heard him if he wished. Dean just sniffed in thanks before the door was swung open by Bobby.  
  
“Get inside, y’idgits. You tryin’ to freeze to death?”  
  
The warmth of Bobby’s home was a welcoming surprise. Looking at the cabin from outside, you wouldn’t have thought that any form of heat would have been kept inside; usually it all escaped from the gaps in the windows or through the spaces in the floor. A shiver ran its course down Dean’s spine as the instant temperature change caused a flutter to appear in his nose. Before he could even attempt to hide it, he crushed his hands to his face.  
  
_“Hh **RRSSHH** ’uh! Eh **SCSHH** huh!”_  
  
Bobby eyed both boys cynically, folding his arms across his chest.  
  
“Son, you look like hell.”  
  
“I’m fine, Bobby.”  
  
“Go take a shower if you-“  
  
“I said I’m fine!”  
  
Bobby glanced at Sam who just raised his eyebrows, as if shrugging at him. The look on his face told Bobby everything; he’d been dealing with Dean in this mood for far too long, and the exhaustion lines were clearly apparent across his face.  
  
“Dean, if you’re not feeling-“  
  
“I thought we were here to work on a case.” Dean cut Sam short, his voice low and monotone. He made his way into Bobby’s study where they both heard him sneeze twice before launching into a fit of angry coughing. Sam and Bobby exchanged looks of bemusement.  
  
_“Merry Christmas to us.”_


	2. Part II

Bobby and Sam lingered in the doorway as Dean rummaged through the mountains of papers and textbooks haphazardly strewn across Bobby’s desk, occasionally swiping the back of his hand under his nose; luckily Bobby had preempted this, and organized several snippets of information to form this “case” that they were supposedly working on. Dean stopped rummaging for a moment and stared at the two of them, raising his arms outwards in an over-exaggurated shrugging motion.  
  
“What, you two blending in with the furniture? Are you gonna fill us in or not?” Dean’s gaze was fixated on Bobby, who was unadmittedly enjoying Dean’s performance. He had been dealing with Dean’s attitude for more years than he cared to remember, and he knew exactly how to handle him when he behaved like this, becoming increasingly amused by Dean’s theatrics.  
  
“Fill you in?” Bobby eyed Dean obliviously. Dean sighed, his eyes widening in frustration.  
  
“The case? People dying, demon omens, reindeer mutilations. Ring any bells?”  
  
“Son, you ain’t doing jack until you take a shower.”  
  
“I don’t need  _ahh… hh-!_ ”  The beginnings of a sneeze caught Dean off guard, causing him to stagger backwards ever so slightly. He jammed the back of his wrist against the underside of his nose, gritting his teeth as though he was furious with the timing of the sneeze.  _“Eh **TSSCHH** ’ah! EIH **TCCHH** hh!” _The force of them caused him to bend at the waist slightly. He straightened himself up and shook his head, as though trying to regain some form of composure. “I don’t need a shower, Bobby.”  
  
“I’m sorry, did I end that sentence with  _‘If it pleases, your majesty?’_  Go take a shower.”  
  
“But Bobby, I-“  
  
 _“Now!”_  
  
The raised tone in Bobby’s voice caused Dean to utter a sulky sniffle against the back of his wrist, which was still pressed firmly under his nose. He reminded Sam of a moody teenager who had just been grounded and banished to their room; as if to prove a point, Dean stormed past Sam and Bobby, knocking into Sam’s shoulder as he passed. Sam was about to utter a rebuttal, but Dean was already coughing his way into the bathroom before Sam even had time to turn around.  
  
When the two were left alone, content with the sounds of running water, Sam collapsed onto the sofa, while Bobby placed himself solemnly behind his desk. He poured a glass of whiskey and slid it in Sam’s direction before pouring another.  
  
“You look like you need it,” Bobby muttered, sympathy wavering slightly across his features.  
  
“I’m fine, Bobby, really.” Sam half smiled before taking a swig of his drink, the taste warming and familiar.  
  
They sat in silence for a moment, somberly sipping at their alcohol, enjoying the fact that Dean’s coughing and increasingly frequent sneezing was muffled by the bathroom door and a flight of stairs. Bobby exhaled audibly before setting his glass sternly on his desk.  
  
“So, what we gonna do about Cold-Ridden Cletus up there?” Sam peered over the rim of his glass at Bobby before fixating his gaze on the floor.  
  
“I dunno, Bobby. I just-“ He cut himself short and gazed out of the window; the falling snow made for a perfect, Christmas scene – exactly what Sam was hoping for. “I wanted this year to be different, y’know? All we do every year is hunt, buy each other crappy gifts from Gas Marts and try not to get killed. For once, I just wanted us to have a Christmas Dean would remember forever. And now…” He allowed his voice to trail away; he didn’t need to say any more. The silence shared between them gave a better explanation than any amount of talking could have ever hoped to achieve.  
  
They spent the duration of their drinking in silence, until several thuds drummed down the stairs, and Dean hovered in the doorway a moment. He looked worse than he did before he showered; his skin had a sickly white tinge to it, color flecked across both his cheeks, dark shadows lurking beneath his eyes and the skin surrounding his nose was becoming an angry shade of red from the apparent rubbing and sneezing. Each breath he took had an audible wheeze to it, sinking Sam’s heart to his stomach – he knew that sound was the beginning of a bad case of bronchitis, which would leave Dean enervated for days, or quite possibly, even weeks.  
  
“Are y-“ Dean barely began speaking before his breath caught suddenly, forcing his head to tip back as his eyes squinted shut, the reddened edges of his nostrils flaring in protest. He tried to guide a hand up towards his face, but the force of the expulsions caused his body to twist awkwardly to the side as he buried his face in his shoulder.  
  
 _“Hh **RRSSSHCH** ’uh! Hu’ **TSCSHH** hh! Hur **RSSCHH** ’hh!”_  
  
Dean reeled in the aftermath as the sneezes took his breath, causing him to spread his palm across his chest, gasping for breath. Sam and Bobby began to stand before Dean held up a hand in a motion to wait, and after coughing harshly into a clenched fist a couple of times, he regained his posture and took a seat opposite Bobby, stern eyes observing his every motion.  
  
“Are you godna fill us in ndow or what?” The congestion swelling within Dean’s nose and sinuses was now apparent, though he was evidently choosing to ignore it. Bobby cocked an eyebrow before draining his glass and pulling out a map and spreading it across the table.  
  
“These are the farms that’ve been hit by the mutilations so far.” Bobby guided his hand along the markers which he had previously indicated on the map.  
  
“Are there any other signs? Electrical storms or temperature drops?”  
  
“It’s the end of December in Sioux Falls. Temperature ain’t gonna drop any more than it is. As for electrical storms, there was-“  
  
“ _Hh’ **EISSHH** hhuu’! Eh **HSHH** ’ah!_” Sam and Bobby startled at the sudden outbursts as Dean appeared to… was he blushing? “Sorry, continue,” Dean muffled into his palm, the sneezes having apparently caught him off guard. Bobby lowered his gaze level with Dean’s eyes and held his glare for a moment before looking away and pouring yet another drink, this time sliding it across to Dean.  
  
“You can drink that and go to sleep. We can pick this up in the morning.”  
  
“Ndo, Bobby, I-“  
  
“Son, we can sit here arguing into the night, but we both know that ain’t gonna do either of us any good. You take my bed. Me an’ Sam’ll be alright in here.”  
  
Dean was about to protest again before he caught sight of Sam; the guy looked as exhausted as Dean felt. He decided it would serve neither of them any purpose to stay awake, so in an act of kindness to his brother, he decided to comply with Bobby’s commands and as soon as his drink was finished, he made his way to Bobby’s room.  
  
Despite his protests and reluctance to obey, he couldn’t deny that the coolness of a real pillow provided subtle relief to his fever flushed cheeks and throbbing head. Not to mention the luxury of being able to lie down to sleep; it was a welcoming change from the driver’s seat of the Impala. It must have barely been five minutes since Dean had gone upstairs, yet the soft, congested snores were already noticeable, resulting in eye rolls and concerned, gentle chuckles from Sam and Bobby as they began their conspiracy.


	3. Part III

The following day was exactly what Sam and Bobby had assumed it would be – Dean was adamant to do as much work as he could to investigate this “case”. It was a constant battle for Sam to try to convince Dean to remain at Bobby’s while he went out to “investigate” – he was supposedly visiting victims, however it was the only opportunity he was going to get to try to obtain some presents for Dean (and he supposed it wouldn’t be too dreadful if a bottle of whiskey just happened to appear for Bobby).  
  
He had managed to obtain a few meaningful gifts so far. He got a great deal on some hub caps for the car, a silver ring almost identical to the one that Dean wore which their mother gave him and a Sapphire Barbie. He still wasn't entirely satisfied with what he had bought so far; they were all laden with thought and meaning, but it just felt like there was something missing. This year had to be absolutely perfect, down to the last detail, which included the gifts.  
  
Sam was reminded of the Christmas that they spent together when they thought it was Dean's last Christmas before he went to Hell. Sure, that was a damn sight better than all their other Christmases, but that year was filled with pain and sorrow that Sam would prefer they avoided.  
  
John never gave them a proper Christmas; each year was usually spent with John working away on a case while Dean protected Sam. Hardly a textbook Christmas, but it was theirs and they had come to accept this. However, it had gotten to the point where Sam was tired of this being the norm and wanted this year to be memorable for the rest of their lives; John may not have been there to share it with them, but at least they had Bobby, and despite Bobby's forthcomings, they were grateful to have him as their father figure.  
  
A car horn alerted Sam back to reality and he noticed that he was staring through the window of a vinyl shop. Well, he had been on at Dean to update his cassette collection - if Dean was adamant to live in the stone ages then he might as well do it with some class.  
  
Four AC/DC vinyl records safely wrapped, Sam concluded it was a good time to head back. Stashing the gifts in the trunk of the Impala, he headed back to Bobby's.  
  
Once he arrived back, he was actually surprised at what he saw. Surprised and concerned.  
  
Bobby was nowhere to be seen, but the occasional clink indicated that he was in the kitchen. Dean was slumped across the sofa, mouth wide open and snoring softly. Dean never slept during the day - hell, he barely slept at night. For him to actually fall asleep in daylight hours and also while they were working a case created a serious cause for concern.  
  
"How long's he been out?" Sam stood behind Bobby in the kitchen, eyes remaining fixated on the older Winchester.  
  
"'Bout an hour. Whatever the hell he has, it sure is kicking his ass." Bobby turned to face Sam, worry lines etching across his features. Bobby was a hardened individual who showed less paternal emotion than anything; for him to be showing visible concern was something which created a feeling of a huge weight bearing down on Sam's shoulders.  
  
"How's the case going?" Sam whispered, cautious of waking his brother.  
  
"He's still buyin' it. But for how much longer is anyone's guess."  
  
Sam slumped his shoulders, focusing on Dean's appearance - Bobby had draped a thin blanket across him, yet he seemed to still be trembling slightly, even in his sleep. His skin was unnaturally pale, almost sporting a grey tint to it. A slick film of sweat covered his forehead and the only colour apparent on his face was the reddened blemish across his nose. Sam sighed, almost crumpling himself against the wall, as if defeated by a fictitious opponent.  
  
"Why's this happening now, Bobby? Why couldn't this Christmas just be perfect?"  
  
Bobby clamped a hand on Sam's shoulder.  
  
"Son, you should know by now that our luck ain't exactly winning us any competitions."  
  
"I know, Bobby, I just-"  
  
Before Sam could finish, a string of coughing could be heard coming from the sofa. Bobby thrust a glass of water into Dean's palm before he could even take a breath.  
  
"Good morning, sunshine," Bobby said when the coughing finally stopped; his smile was shot down by a fever-flushed bitch glare shortly after.  
  
"How are you feeling?" Sam asked, crouching down in front of Dean.  
  
"Fucking fantastic," Dean wheezed. He sounded terrible.  
  
"You sound terrible," Sam bravely pointed out. He knew how risky it was making such a profound statement, but he was tired of tip toeing around his brother's condition.  
  
"Thanks for the update. How did it go with the-  _hh--!_ "  
  
Before he could even finish his sentence, Dean was cut short as his breath hitched, causing his words to catch in his throat. His head tipped straight back, causing Sam to quickly duck out of the way - it was clear Dean had no intention of changing his projectory and Sam was directly in his firing line.  
  
" _Hh- **GDZSHH** 'uhh! UHRSSHH'hh!_"  
  
Dean sneezed openly in front of him, his dignity and pride seemingly long gone; he held no pretences about how he felt. He no longer had the energy to argue with anyone.  
  
"How did it go with the victims?" His voice sounded strained, as if every word took a conscious effort to get out, sapping away at the last lingering threads of his energy.  
  
"It um- it was fine. I got some information. Want me to fill you in?"  
  
Dean held Sam's glare, his exp ****ression... exp ****ressionless. One would have thought that Sam just asked him to pose naked or steal a child's ice cream. After a few seconds, it became apparent why.  
  
" _Hh- **GDZSHH** 'uhh! HURSSSHHHH! Hhh- **GDZZSH** 'ah!_"  
  
The sneezes caused Dean to bend forwards, his chest pressed to his knees. He blinked rapidly, his eyes moving back towards Sam's. He sighed before mustering the energy to stand.  
  
"Fill Bobby in. I'm gonna take a shower."  
  
He stumbled upstairs, leaving Sam and Bobby alone where they exchanged wide eyes of apprehension. If Dean Winchester bailed on being given information on a case, then there was certainly cause for concern. 


	4. Part IV

The following day and night were almost identical to the days which preceded - Dean being a pain in the ass, working himself into the ground and Sam forcing him to stay put and rest.  
  
It was now Christmas Eve, and Dean's health had shown no signs of improvement; if anything, he had gotten worse.  
  
The previous night involved Sam running up and down the stairs sporadically; Dean's fever had spiked to almost dangerous levels, and when either Winchester had a fever, it always resulted in the same thing - recollections of Hell.  
  
Dean's screams reverberated around the house at various periods throughout the night, and it was always Sam who was by his side. Bobby offered to help once, but after getting punched in the stomach, he refused to go back. Sam was the only one who seemed to be able to calm him - after speaking a few words, Dean would settle and return to his unconscious; only to reawaken a short time later, but at least Sam was able to settle him, even if only for a short time.  
  
The situation failed to improve much throughout the day; Dean continued to slip in and out of consciousness while Sam and Bobby tried their best efforts to calm him, bring his temperature down and feed him, amongst various other things. It was like caring for a small child again, something which was alien to Sam as it was usually Dean who did the caretaking. Being the younger brother held its variety of perks and always being the one on the receiving end of the nurture was something which Sam had, up until now, taken sorely for granted.   
  
"You need anything?"  
  
The lack of response caused Sam to glance over at the mound of blankets bundled up on the sofa.  
  
"Dean?"  
  
Again, there was no response, provoking Sam's pulse to quicken. He was just about to rush over to his brother before he heard a couple of shaky intakes of breath, shortly followed by-  
  
 _"Hh- **DZSCH** hhuh! Uh **RRSH** hhuh!  **GDZSSCH** hh!"_  
  
"Gesundheit."  
  
"Cad you pass me the tissues please?" The sound of Dean's voice caused Sam to physically wince. Each word sounded like it was being forced out, scraping against his vocal chords as they escaped.   
  
"Maybe you should go to bed," Sam almost whispered, not sure if Dean hearing him was intentional or not.  
  
"It's Christbas Eve. Shouddn't we be drinkigg egg nog and caroligg or sobething?"  
  
Dean was now sat upright, grubby blankets draping across his sweat-slick frame, glassy fever eyes staring into Sam.  
  
"Dean... you can barely move."  
  
"Whad are you talkigg about? I feel much-"  
  
Dean was cut short by a fit of congested coughing. He spent a good, solid minute coughing deeply into his fist before the fit apparently triggered something in his nose.  
  
 _"Huh- **UHSH** hhIUH! Hh **DZZSCH** iuhh!  **GZZSH** hu!"_  
  
Sam eyed Dean cynically.  
  
"I'm sorry, you were saying?"  
  
"...Shut up."  
  
"Will you two quit bein' at each other's throats for five minutes? It's Christmas Eve." Bobby's authoritative tone silenced the brothers as he sat before them, beginning to pour drinks for all of them.  
  
"Bobby, Dean won't go to b-"  
  
"You think I don' have ears? I might be an old coot, but I can still hear, y'know. I heard y'both."  
  
"But Bobby-"  
  
"Sam, quit bitchin'. Dean, drink this and go to bed."  
  
He handed the brothers a tumbler of whiskey each, which appeared to silence them both, but only momentarily.  
  
"Bobby, it's Christbas. I'b dot going to sleep yet."  
  
"Did it sound like I was askin'?"  
  
"But, I feel a lot better-  _hh--! Hh- **RRSSCH** hhuh! Eh **DZSH** hh!  **ITSSCHH** hhiuh!_"  
  
"Well, you sound like crap."  
  
Dean was about to protest, but he knew Bobby too well. No amount of arguing would achieve what he wanted and with his fever beginning to climb again, he swallowed what was left of his drink and made his way to the bedroom.  
  
"Merry freakin' Christbas," Dean uttered over his shoulder before skulking up the stairs.  
  
Before either Sam or Bobby had finished their drinks, they could hear the sounds of Dean's congested snores creeping down the stairs from the bedroom. They knew they didn't have long to prepare everything before the Hell-fueled nightmares returned and the remainder of the night would be spent trying to keep him from freaking out completely.  
  
Just as they added the finishing touches, they heard Dean wailing, crying out for... he was crying out for Bobby. It was usually his brother who he cried for, desperate to have him by his side, terrified that he had lost him again -however, tonight seemed to be Bobby's lucky night as the older Winchester continued to scream for him, curdling both of their blood.  
  
"I'll be back in a minute," Bobby sighed, before dashing up to the bedroom, water bottles and cold cloths in hand.  
  
Sam listened fervently, low voices barely audible coming from Dean's room. He sat back, smothering his face with his hands when he heard the unmistakable whoosh of air, shortly followed by a dull thump.  
  
"Cas?"  
  
The angel stood before Sam, looking awkward and complacent.  
  
"Cas, what are you doing here?"  
  
He looked at Sam as if the question offended him.  
  
"It is Christmas. Isn't it traditional to spend Christmas with family?"  
  
Sam couldn't help but feel a twinge of annoyance at the angel, appearing before him being so entitled and conceited; becoming a part of the Winchester family was not something which was readily available to just anyone.  
  
"Well, yeah it is, Cas, but-"  
  
"Where's Dean? He prayed for me."  
  
 _Nice to see you too, Cas._  
  
"He's upstairs. With Bobby."  
  
Cas looked towards the stairs, confusion flitting darkly across his features. His bright eyes bore into Sam, as if it were somehow Sam's fault that Dean was not here.  
  
"Why is he not here? Drinking egg nog and eating cookies and... untangling Christmas lights?"  
  
It was painfully apparent that Cas had researched cliché activities which were usually done by families over Christmas.   
  
"He's sick, Cas."  
  
The silence in the room was overwhelming; Cas' eyes continued to bore into Sam like he had committed the worlds worst offence. A guy drinks a little demon blood and suddenly he is Public Angel Enemy Number One.  
  
As if to purposefully break the tension between them, Bobby lumbered his way down the stairs, eyeing the angel cynically. The way he was looking at Sam was certainly unnerving.  
  
"Drink?" Bobby offered, pouring himself one. Castiel didnt even flinch, his eyes remaining fixated on Sam.   
  
After a tense moment, Cas averted his gaze and examined the room; lights were draped across a few branches that sprouted from a pot of dirt on the floor, presents crudely wrapped in the last hunt's newspaper haphazardly strewn beneath it, the occasional Christmas tree decoration littered about on the walls and fireplace.  
  
"Is this supposed to be Christmas?"  
  
Sam and Bobby exchanged glances before Sam ducked his head to his chest; he had thought he had done a good job - it was considerably better than the most recent Christmases - but Castiel was renowned for taking each small accomplishment and making it appear worthless.  
  
"I tried to give Dean a perfect Christmas," Sam muttered into his chest, resembling a wayward child who was being scolded by their superior.  
  
"What prevented you from doing that?" Cas' words were as emotionless as ever; one would have thought that spending so much time around humans would have sparked even the tiniest bit of empathy within the celestial but evidently it hadn't.  
  
"Dean's really sick Cas. Weve spent the last few days making sure he's alright."  
  
Castiel's entire demeanour softened. He was not Sam's biggest fan, nor was he an expert on human behavior, but he could detect the sincerity in his concern towards his brother.  
  
Castiel resumed his glare upon Sam, approaching him dauntingly. Once he was stood before him, he pressed two fingers to Sam's forehead, causing him to slump back into the sofa in which he was previously sat. Bobby immediately tried to stand to rush towards Sam, but before he could even lift himself from his chair, Cas was by his side, fingers pressed to his head. Bobby collapsed backwards, leaving them both now unconscious in the lounge.  
  
Within an instant, Cas was besides Dean in the bedroom. Dean was sprawled across the bed, sheets hanging from him loosely, his body twisted and contorted in the most unusual positions. Cas could see his face; flushed red with fever, a slick film of sweat covering every inch of his skin, lips dry and cracked from the constant mouth breathing.  
  
The angel approached Dean but just as he was about to lean into him, Dean's eyes shot open, wide with terror and fixating on Cas.  
  
"Cas? Cas are you really here?"  
  
Dean reached out suddenly, grabbing the angel's arm. Castiel could feel the weakness in Dean, his hands betraying him and trembling vigorously, his grip firm but fragile.  
  
"Yes, Dean. I am here."  
  
Cas allowed Dean to keep a grip on his arm for a moment longer as he watched the elder Winchester's face begin to contort slightly, his eyes almost spilling over and for a moment, he thought he was going to cry. That was until Dean released his grip on Castiel, limply raising his arm across his face.  
  
 _"HhUh **RSHHH** hhuh! Uh **SDZZHH** hhu! Hh-! Hh- **GDDSSZZHH** hhuh!"_  
  
Before Dean had time to react after the explosions, he felt something cool and firm press into his forehead before everything went black.  
  
The next thing he knew, it was morning. He sat up in bed, running his course fingers through his hair before realizing that the floor no longer felt like it was shifting beneath him. He sat unmoving for a moment, trying to collect himself; he no longer felt like he was going to die. In all honesty, he felt fantastic. He sucked in lungs full of air through his nose, smiling to himself at this new found ability. He took deep breaths through his mouth, his chest no longer wheezing and tightening.  
  
He almost skipped downstairs to breakfast; upon entering the lounge, however, he suddenly felt his legs become weak again, in danger of collapsing beneath him.  
  
There was a huge Christmas tree, beautifully decorated and occupying one entire corner of the room. Decorations were abundant in every direction, hanging from the ceilings and the walls. Beneath the generously decorated tree, there lay several brightly wrapped gifts with glittery bows tied around them.  
  
Dean felt the prickly heat against his eyes and he fought back the tears; Sam and Bobby were sleeping soundly around the gifts.   
  
Allowing them one more moment's peace before he tore into his gifts, Dean creeped into the kitchen to gather a drink. Bottle of water in hand, he began to make his way back to the lounge, unable to contain his excitement any longer, desperate to wake Sam and Bobby and have a real Christmas. As he passed the table, a scrap of paper was precariously placed on the edge, something scribbled across it.  
  
Dean felt his eyes begin to prickle again as he read what it said. He silently bowed his head in prayer before charging into the lounge and landing directly on top on Sam.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic I posted on another site. It was a Secret Santa that I wrote for one of my friends. Christmas in July? Why not? Spread the holiday cheer around all throughout the year.


End file.
